


put a label on it

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexuality, Gender Identity, Genderqueer, Misgendering, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, beacuse pronouns can be hard but that's okay as long as you try!, pansexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:26:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bahorel drags Grantaire to a party held by the queer rights group he's recently joined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	put a label on it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mondegreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mondegreen/gifts).



> I was inspired to write this when I discovered that these amazing [Hello Pronouns](http://www.storenvy.com/products/4622860-hello-pronouns-sticker-set-of-5) stickers exist, because they are _the coolest fucking thing ever_. 
> 
> As a heads up: Grantaire's pronouns change partway through this fic, along with their understanding of their gender identity.

Grantaire doesn't want to go. She honest-to-fuck does _not_ want to be dragged to this shitty party, but Bahorel is not the kind of guy that you can say no to, not when he's _passionate_ about something and yeah, okay, so maybe Grantaire does want to go a little, because she's never seen Bahorel get fired up over anything like this before and she's a bit curious. 

That's not going to stop her from complaining the entire way there.

"I hate parties. I hate _people_." Grantaire attempts to pull her wrist out of Bahorel's firm grip, to no success, once again. "Fuck's sake, Bahorel, what did I ever do to you? Wait, no, don't answer that. I'm going to hate this, aren't I? I already know it. It's going to _suck_."

"Would you shut up?" Bahorel grumbles, looking down at her. "There's going to be booze. And you were saying the other day that you wished there were people you could show your haircut off to."

Grantaire runs her hand over her freshly-buzzed undercut with her free hand, and smiles a little. "Yeah, okay."

"Besides," Bahorel says. "I want you to meet these people. They're fucking awesome, okay, and I think you'll like them. Like, they were the first people I've ever felt comfortable enough around to come out as trans, and they all just took it in stride. They weren't weird about it or anything."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't weird about it either," Grantaire mutters, hating the pang of jealousy that she feels.

Bahorel stops walking then, and gives her a fond look. "Man, you knew me from way before I even figured out why I hated wearing the skirts my mother bought for me. You were there for me throughout the whole damn thing. Nobody compares to you, okay?"

Grantaire looks away, trying and failing not to look pleased. "Yeah, well, you were there when I was figuring shit out, too."

At first, Grantaire had thought that maybe what she wanted to do was transition too, because being a girl didn't always feel right, but the more she thought about it, being a _boy_ didn't quite sound right either. She'd chalked it up to her being as unsure about her own gender as she was about every single other thing in her life, and suffered through the days where everything felt _wrong_ until Bahorel came home from a meeting with his new friends at the university's queer rights club, and told her that the word they'd been looking for was _genderqueer_.

So, okay, maybe Grantaire is more than just a little interested in meeting these people. It does nothing to quieten the anxiety at the back of her mind at the prospect of meeting new people. Especially new people that Bahorel is already friends with, and she is looking forward to meeting. If anything, it just makes the anxiety _worse_.

"Bahorel," she says, hating that her voice is already a little shaky. Hating the fact that she's done this to him enough times that he knows to immediately stop walking, to turn around and put his hands on her shoulders. He doesn't hold on tightly, and he doesn't pull her closer. He just lets her know that he's there, and that's all she needs.

"We can turn back," Bahorel tells her, bending a little so that they're eye to eye. "We don't have to go. Seriously, it doesn't matter."

"We're going," she replies, blinking and feeling grateful for the fact that it doesn't send tears down her cheeks. She blinks again, until her eyes don't feel wet any more, until she can breathe. It goes away as quickly as it came, because absolutely nothing about her makes sense. "Okay. We're going. It's going to be fine."

"I'm going to be right next to you," Bahorel assures her. "You might even have fun. I want to introduce you to Bossuet and Joly. I think you'll love them. They're bringing their girlfriend Musichetta along too, and from what they've told me about her, she sounds pretty awesome."

" _Their_ girlfriend," Grantaire repeats. "I think I like them already."

Bahorel smiles, and takes her hand as they start walking again. The party is being held in the second level of a café and Bahorel lets go of Grantaire's hand as they walk up the stairs, but stays right beside her. 

Grantaire doesn't quite know what she's expecting, but it's certainly not to be greeted by the most beautiful person that she's ever seen. They're perfectly androgynous, skin so pale and features so sharp that they may as well have been carved from marble. Their blond hair is pulled back into a tight braid and their blue eyes ( _cerulean_ , Grantaire thinks, and she's going to home and dig through her box of art supplies until she finds the exact shade when she goes home) flick to Bahorel for a moment before settling on Grantaire. 

"Hello. Bahorel told me that he'd be bringing a friend. You must be Grantaire."

Grantaire can't speak. She's completely paralysed and can do nothing but stare, despite the voice at the back of her head screaming that she say something, _anything_ , growing increasingly panicked the longer Grantaire stands there, until—

"This is Enjolras," Bahorel speaks up, one hand on Grantaire's shoulder, squeezing gently. 

Enjolras smiles, not looking the least bit disconcerted by the fact that Grantaire is speechless. It's a beautiful smile. 

"Here, I have tags and sharpies." Enjolras is already passing a yellow tag to Bahorel, along with a pen. "Which pronoun would you like?"

"Which pronoun?" Grantaire echoes, brows drawing together.

"Well, I don't want to presume," Enjolras tells her, "and this a safe space where nobody will judge you for what you feel comfortable with. I found these tags online and I have blank ones in case you'd prefer something else. We have he, she, they, ze and xe."

Grantaire blinks slowly, and when she speaks, her voice is incredibly small. "I have options?"

Enjolras looks at Bahorel, and then back to Grantaire. It's Bahorel who speaks.

"Fuck, I am such an idiot."

"I don't have to be a _she_ ," Grantaire murmurs, breathless with the revelation. It takes a weight off her shoulders and she reaches for a red tag, with _they/them/theirs_ written at the bottom.

"Here," Enjolras says, handing Grantaire a pen. There's a red label, blending into the red jacket that Enjolras is wearing, with the same pronouns. Grantaire smiles, and Enjolras' eyebrows draw together slightly. "…Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Grantaire laughs quietly, belatedly realising there are tears running down their cheek, and wipes them away. "I'm… I'm great, actually."

"R, I'm so sorry, I should have realised," Bahorel says, but Grantaire simply waves the apology away.

"It's fine. It's not your fault, okay? I know I don't talk about it as much as I probably should." Grantaire takes the pen from Enjolras' hand and writes a big _R_ in the space for their name and sticks it onto their green hoodie. With a smile in Enjolras' direction, Grantaire adds, "I'm really glad you brought me here."

"I'm glad you came as well," Enjolras says, reaching to touch Grantaire's elbow but pausing when Grantaire freezes up. Withdrawing their hand, they smile. "I'm sure Bahorel will introduce you to the others. There are snacks by the table over there."

Grantaire smiles gratefully, and lets Bahorel lead the way further into the room. 

"Bahorel!" someone is crossing the room, wearing a shirt and jeans of different floral patterns, which shouldn't work and somehow _does_. The purple tag on the floral shirt states xe is called Jehan. "Is this Grantaire?"

"Just call me R," Grantaire says, shaking hands with Jehan. "Geez, Bahorel, did you tell _everyone_ about me?"

Even though it's meant as a joke, Grantaire can't ignore the sudden feeling of uneasiness that runs through them. Bahorel must notice it, because he nudges Grantaire with an elbow. "Not _everyone_ , man. Just a couple."

"Enjolras needed RSVP's," Jehan explains, indicating the chairs around the tables at one end of the room. "For their speech. They're very good at those."

"Yeah?" Grantaire glances over at the stairs, where Enjolras is welcoming more newcomers, and doesn't look back for a long moment. 

"Come on," Jehan says excitedly, taking Bahorel's hand. "Marius said he's bringing his girlfriend, and Joly said that he saw Marius arrive a couple of minutes ago!"

Bahorel follows eagerly, throwing a look over his shoulder at Grantaire that is a clear invitation to come with them. Grantaire hangs back a little, because they can see the slight tinge of red to Bahorel's cheeks, and knows exactly what it means. Bahorel's going to curse Grantaire out later for the way they stand on his other side and casually knock into him, pushing him closer to Jehan. It's worth it when Grantaire catches Jehan's small smile, and the way xe steadies Bahorel with an arm around his waist, just briefly, before letting go.

Marius is a shy but friendly guy who Grantaire likes immediately, and his girlfriend Cosette is one of the prettiest girls that they have ever seen. Their relationship is perfect, in the way Grantaire only ever thought could exist in fiction. They're clearly in love with each other, and Cosette doesn't hesitate to tell them about how Marius had been there by her side without a doubt, before she transitioned as well as throughout the entire process. Marius turns red and murmurs that it doesn't deserve praise, that he was just doing what he had to for the person he loves, and Jehan coos at them.

Bahorel pats Grantaire on the back, wrapping an arm around their shoulders with a grin. Grantaire returns the grin, but can't help but notice the way Jehan is trying not to watch them. Xe's being subtle about it, but Grantaire picks up on it anyway. 

"Hey, Jehan, where does a guy get drinks here anyway?" Grantaire asks, as Bahorel gets into a conversation with Cosette about transitioning. "Think you could show me the way?"

Jehan nods with a smile, and leads Grantaire to the stairs. They pass Enjolras, who raises an eyebrow.

"I hope you aren't leaving so soon."

"Relax, Enjolras. I'm just taking Grantaire downstairs to get a drink," Jehan tells them. "Do you actually think I'd let them miss your stirring speech?"

Enjolras nods, reassured, and Grantaire can't help their wide smile then. Surprisingly, Enjolras returns it as Jehan starts descending the staircase, calling for Grantaire to follow. There is probably an incredibly obvious blush on Grantaire's cheeks as they follow Jehan, but xe is kind enough not to point it out. Nor does xe comment when Grantaire immediately orders a couple of shots and downs them before ordering a beer that they can just sit around with. 

"Listen," Grantaire says as the bartender makes Jehan's strawberry daiquiri. "I love Bahorel. Not like that. I mean, he's my best friend in the whole damn world and most of the time, I don't even doubt that I'm his. I know him better than anyone else and wow, okay, that probably sounds conceited. I'm not trying to be conceited and I don't mean to ramble either, sorry—"

"It's alright," Jehan says with a bright smile. "I didn't think you were being conceited at all."

"Okay." Grantaire takes a deep breath, trying to calm themself down. "Okay, good. Right. I had a point. I wanted to say that knowing Bahorel as well as I do, you're going to have to make a move before he ever does. He's really good at pretending not to give a fuck, but _man_. Let me tell you how much that is not the case."

Jehan smiles at that, taking xyr glass from the bartender and paying. "I see. And you think he likes me."

"Are you kidding? I _know_ you're stupid for each other and I could tell from the moment you came over. You don't have to do anything _right now_ but, you know. Keep it in mind, okay? You guys are the first good friends he's made here, if he's comfortable enough to tell you guys about everything. He's probably afraid of fucking that up. And… uh, if I've completely misread everything and made the biggest tool out of myself… judge me and not him, okay?"

With a quiet laugh, Jehan bumps their shoulders together. "You haven't misread anything. Thank you, Grantaire."

Back upstairs, Bahorel is talking to a small group of people that Grantaire doesn't recognise, but a familiar head full of ginger hair makes their eyes widen. "Feuilly?"

"Hey, Grantaire." Feuilly is wearing a _he/him/his_ tag, and Grantaire is incredibly glad that they haven't been getting that wrong. His eyes go to Grantaire's tag, though, and he frowns. "Shit, I've been calling you a _she_ this whole time."

"Hey man, no worries." Grantaire smiles. "So was I. Didn't even realise I could be a _they_. Is this the best fucking thing ever or what?"

Feuilly laughs warmly and when he notices Bahorel's questioning look, he says, "Grantaire comes by my stall at the weekend markets every Saturday. Usually brings an extra cup of coffee with her—fuck, _them_. Sorry."

Grantaire chuckles, waving it off. "I'm probably going to be doing that to myself for a while too, it's alright."

Enjolras, no longer standing at the stairs to welcome newcomers, is at the table at the front of the room with two others, setting things up. Grantaire sneaks a few glances at Enjolras, who is leaning over a laptop, frowning in concentration.

"Remind me to introduce you to the golden trio later," Bahorel says to Grantaire. "I mean, you've already spoken to Enjolras but something tells me that you won't mind talking to them again. Those guys with them are Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Second cutest couple I've ever seen, after Marius and Cosette. I heard that Enjolras started this group after Combeferre and Courfeyrac were told they couldn't go as each other's dates to something."

"What?" Grantaire scowls. "That's bullshit."

"Yeah." Feuilly nods. "We think so too. That's why we're here. From what I know, Enjolras was already kind of figuring out their own gender identity but starting this group really helped. Not all of us identify as non-binary, but we've got a pretty good mix here, and our main focus is getting the message across that _we exist_. Combeferre and I are both asexual, but I'm aromantic and you can probably tell for yourself that he's very much _not_."

Grantaire smiles at that. The looks that Combeferre and Courfeyrac keep exchanging over Enjolras' head are incredibly fond, and it warms Grantaire's heart.

"Ooh, who's this?" one of Bahorel's other friends asks, turning to Grantaire.

"This is Grantaire, my best friend." Bahorel steps to the side, wordlessly inviting Grantaire to join their circle. "R, this is Bossuet, Joly and Musichetta."

"Hey," Bossuet greets with a bright, dimpled smile. "I think I've heard about you before. I met Bahorel back when we were both taking T and he told me about his awesome friend who was supporting him through it. Nice haircut, by the way."

Grantaire grins, running a hand through their mohawk. "Thanks. I like your shaved head. Suits you."

Bossuet's smile grows wider. "Used to have natural ringlets, and people would keep telling me how _pretty_ my hair was and how lucky I was to have it. Fuck that."

"Ugh, yeah." Grantaire wrinkles their nose. "That sucks."

"But now you're happy," Joly says with a warm smile, taking Bossuet's hand into his own. "And comfortable with yourself, which is the important thing."

Musichetta beams at both her boys, wrapping her arms around both their shoulders.

At the front of the room, Enjolras clears their throat. "If I could get you all to take a seat, please?"

Bahorel leads the way to one of the larger tables near the front of the room, winking at Grantaire as they all sit down. There are others sitting around the other tables that Grantaire hasn't spoken to yet, but from what they can tell, they've been introduced to the core group of the club.

Grantaire would say that they're enraptured from the moment Enjolras begins speaking, but the truth is that Grantaire had been won over from the first moment they had even seen Enjolras. Everything else is just a bonus.

Enjolras welcomes everyone, their gaze lingering on Grantaire for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of their mouth. Grantaire smiles back, certain that they're just imagining things anyway. Either way, they're just happy to sit there, fingers curled loosely around their bottle of beer as Enjolras' voice washes over them. Enjolras talks about all the people that the group has helped since its inception, and there's even a powerpoint to go with the speech. They talk of all the people the group has helped to realise their own identity—Enjolras smiles in Grantaire's direction again, and this time it's accompanied by a strange pang in Grantaire's chest—and the way they've been fighting discrimination, both on the university campus as well as outside of it.

By the time Enjolras is finished talking, Grantaire has their chin resting in a hand and doesn't even realise until Bahorel quietly clears his throat.

"You've got this weird glazed look to your eyes," Bahorel mutters, "like you're already imagining domestic life with our brilliant leader. Complete with a cat and monogrammed Theirs and Theirs towels."

"Fuck you, man. You can talk once you're done picking out your floral curtains."

Bahorel snorts quietly. "Jehan wouldn't want—fuck. _Fuck_. I hate you."

Grantaire snickers, nudging Bahorel with an elbow. "Hate you more."

Courfeyrac and Combeferre also have short speeches to encourage people to join, talking about the events that they have planned. Once they're done, Courfeyrac walks over to the table with Combeferre in tow.

"Oh hello, you're new, and you're sitting with the regulars! Always nice to see new additions to the table."

"Hey," Grantaire greets, offering a hand to shake. "Grantaire. I kind of owe Bahorel big time for dragging me here, but we're not going to let that get to our heads now, are we, Bahorel?"

"Speak for yourself, man," Bahorel snorts. "I'm not letting you forget this."

"I don't think I'd forget it anyway," Grantaire murmurs, watching as Enjolras works their way through the room, thanking everyone individually for coming and encouraging them to stay and talk to the others.

Combeferre clears his throat politely and Grantaire's attention snaps back to the others at the table, their cheeks burning. Courfeyrac is beaming at Grantaire, and Combeferre is smiling too. 

"So I take it you're definitely coming to one of our regular meetings?" Courfeyrac asks, and Grantaire nods just as Enjolras approaches the table.

"Oh, you are?" Enjolras smiles, and Grantaire's heart skips a beat. "That's wonderful news. It's always a pleasure to have new members, and to know that we've made a difference in someone's life, even if it's a small one."

"I'm not the same person now that I was when I came here," Grantaire says quietly. "You've made a big difference. Trust me."

Enjolras' smile grows wider, and Grantaire isn't sure if they're just imagining the tinge of red to Enjolras' cheeks. "I'm glad to hear it."

Soon enough, Enjolras moves on to the next table, while the rest of them talk amongst themselves. Grantaire quickly discovers that Bahorel was most definitely right about them getting along with Bossuet and Joly. They haven't clicked with anyone so easily since the first time they'd met Bahorel himself, years and years ago. Soon enough, they're laughing and joking with each other, getting louder as they go and pulling everyone else into it as well. Grantaire makes a drinking game out of people misgendering each other—or themselves—and proceeds to get extremely drunk with Bahorel and Feuilly, who keep apologising no matter how many times Grantaire insists that it's fine.

The entire group have firmly accepted Grantaire as one of their own by the end of the night. Grantaire hasn't felt so comfortable in a large group of people ever before and loudly declares that they're keeping everyone. They look over at Enjolras, who is looking back at them, with the same small smile they've been giving Grantaire all night.

When it's finally time to head home, Enjolras walks over, helping Grantaire up. "Are you okay to go home on your own?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I'm with Bahorel."

"Whereabouts do you live, Bahorel?" Enjolras asks.

Bahorel, momentarily distracted as he says goodbye to Jehan, blinks at Enjolras. "Huh. S'good fuckin' question. R?"

Grantaire rolls their eyes. "This way, man."

"Maybe I should walk you both home," Enjolras says, sounding concerned. "To make sure you get there safely."

"Mm, yeah. Good idea." Grantaire takes Enjolras' hand without thought. "This way."

The air outside is cold and the walk helps Grantaire sober up enough to realise that they're still holding hands with Enjolras. Amazingly, Enjolras isn't protesting at all, fingers interlocked with Grantaire's. Bahorel is shuffling along on Grantaire's other side, oblivious to everything else around him. Enjolras' catches Grantaire's gaze and smiles, squeezing their hand.

"This is our block," Grantaire says, quiet and reluctant.

" _Bed_ ," Bahorel murmurs appreciatively, walking inside as he digs his keys out of his pocket.

"Um." Grantaire feels awkward, letting go of Enjolras' hand but not wanting to follow Bahorel inside just yet. "I meant it before. About you changing everything. Thank you."

Enjolras meets Grantaire's eyes, looking pleased. "I'm very glad."

"And I meant it about coming back," Grantaire murmurs. Their smile is probably lopsided but it doesn't matter, because Enjolras keeps returning it.

"Forgive me if I'm misreading things," Enjolras says quietly, "but there have been people that have joined the group because of… _me_ , before. I don't usually realise it until they're gone, and Courfeyrac has pointed it out to me. But with you… I've spent all night hoping that you decide to stay."

"Yeah?" Grantaire feels giddy, and can barely hold back from taking Enjolras' hand again. "I'm staying."

Enjolras smiles wider, their gaze dropping to Grantaire's lips, before sucking in a deep breath. The smile fades a little. "…You're drunk, aren't you?"

"Not drunk enough to miss the fact that you really want to kiss me anyway," Grantaire murmurs, and winces. "But apparently drunk enough to not keep that to myself. Ugh."

Enjolras laughs quietly and it's a beautiful sound. Grantaire is incredibly relieved that they manage to keep that thought to themself.

"I could kiss you on the cheek," Grantaire offers. "Do I need to be sober for that?"

Enjolras steps closer in response. Grantaire's hands settle on Enjolras' sides, leaning forward. The alcohol may not be impeding Grantaire's speech very much, but their aim is completely off. Their lips skim across Enjolras' jaw, and then up to Enjolras' ear.

"Fuck," they both whisper, with very different tones. Enjolras sounds breathless, their grip on Grantaire tightening just as Grantaire lets go. 

"Sorry," Grantaire murmurs, pulling back, but it only results in their noses brushing against each other. "Fuck. Sorry. I suck."

With a quiet, amused sound, Enjolras tilts their head up, so that their lips briefly touch. "Good night, Grantaire. I'll see you later."

"I… yeah. Yeah. Good night."

Enjolras stays where they are. Grantaire looks back three times in the seven seconds it takes to walk to the door of the apartment block. Enjolras waves as Grantaire pushes the door open.

The moment Grantaire is inside, they grin broadly. They're still grinning as they walk into their apartment, locking the door and going to their room. Pulling the name-and-gender tag off their hoodie, Grantaire sticks it on the wall, between a couple of posters. It takes a long time to get to sleep, because Grantaire is too busy lying awake and continuing to grin like an absolute idiot. It's totally worth it.

They owe Bahorel big time.


End file.
